


NTS: READ PRESCRIPTION LABELS

by Rag



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aphrodisiacs, Awkward Sexual Situations, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rag/pseuds/Rag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reiner said it was a fun way to mess around but Jean's had a boner for two hours and he doesn't think he's doing this right. And of course there's no one in the medical ward to help him except Commander Smith, who insists he's trained in first aid and more than willing to help Jean with whatever he's having trouble with.</p><p>Jean's having a shitty, awkward day off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	NTS: READ PRESCRIPTION LABELS

**Author's Note:**

> this fic operates on porno logic. drugs aren't illegal and the SC are allowed to do them at the right times. this is one of those times. don't ask for more specifics because i don't have them
> 
> for prompt: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4191021

_It’s totally safe_ , Reiner had said. _You have to try it. You’ll last for hours. Seriously, ask Eren about it._

Jean should have known Eren would spike it. He refuses to admit that he’s stuck with a painful boner because he misread the directions to take a half-pill sample to ascertain sensitivity to dosage. Because he didn’t think Eren’s directions would be important. Because he forgot his dad was a fucking pharmacist, and Eren would actually know what he was talking about.

Fuck Eren.

Jean’s starting to worry. He’s already come four times in the rarely-used east-side latrine, and he’s still rock hard. It might be rrational, but he’s starting to feel light-headed. His dick is sucking all his blood out of his brain. Could he die from this? Could his dick fall off? He’ll never live it down if the rest of the squad found out, but what if something actually goes wrong? But no- he doesn’t care how much he could help, there’s no way in hell Jean’s going to Eren for advice. He'd never hear the end of it.

If he’s still hard in a half hour, he’ll go to the medical ward. But he probably only needs to jerk off one more time to make it go away.

-

He sprains his wrist. He sprains his fucking wrist to the point that it can barely move from jerking off too much. He tries finishing with his right hand, but it’s all wrong, he can’t get the right pressure, can’t get the speed.

Jean hates today. He groans and waits for the boner to _go down already, please_.

-

Jean knocks on the door of the health ward a half hour later with a heavy pack in front of his crotch- he'll maintain whatever shreds of dignity he can in this situation. There’s no cadets around, thank God for small miracles. There’s also no superiors.

“Hello?” he calls.

Nothing.

“Hey? Someone?”

“Just a moment,” Jean hears.

He knows who it is, he’d recognize that rich, deep English-accented voice anywhere, but that can't be right. There’s no reason Commander Smith would be in the health ward. All the blood in his dick must be sucking up his sanity, too.

He steps into the reception area and sees all six feet four inches of his heavily muscled, perfectly proportioned, strikingly handsome Commander, sitting at the main desk with some papers in front of him.

“Oh, hello, Cadet Kirstein. Do you need something?”

Jean has a little bit of a crush on the Commander. Actually, no- not a crush, it’s _really_ more admiration than anything. Who doesn't admire Erwin Smith? He’s courageous, smart, and a human Adonis, with a perfect, sculpted body- not to mention the confidence, the easy charm, his thick lips and strong arms that look _perfect_ for-

“Cadet? Can you hear me?”

Jean straightens out and salutes.

“Commander, Sir. Sorry. I’m feeling sick.”

“I can see that,” Erwin says. “You’re quite flushed.”

“Shouldn’t- where’s the nurses?”

“Training,” Erwin says simply, and Jean's face heats up when he realized how informally he'd just spoken to the _Commander_. Erwin continues before he can dwell on it.  “I have extensive experience in first aid, Cadet. I assure you I can help.”

Did Erwin think Jean was implying that he couldn't? That he didn't know how to dress a common wound? Jean wants to sink into the earth.

“Oh, no- of course, sir, I- I didn’t-“ Why can’t he get a good sentence out?

“Do relax, I’m much harder than that to offend,” Erwin says with an easy smile, putting Jean at ease. “What’s troubling you, Jean?”

Jean takes a breath and stops. He _can’t_ talk to Erwin about this. One of the nurses would have been awkward, too, but he could've handled it. Not that Erwin would laugh at him, or punish him, but… he can’t do this, not with Erwin. He’ll die.

But he has to. He knows he has to. He'd come here for help because he has a very real problem. He just has to work himself up to explaining it in detail.

“I’m… sick...” he starts, but Erwin's expression hardens, compelling Jean to quit beating around the bush.

“I sprained my wrist,” he flubs, rubbing at the smarting join of his hand and arm.

“Ah. Come this way, I'll make you up a cast.”

Jean follows him- _not_ looking at Erwin's ass, refusing to even glance at it- to one of the thin metal cots. He sits down, laying his bag over his crotch. Erwin leans down to get some supplies from a cabinet, and before Jean can think to look away, ass. Perfect, round and muscled, leaning over tantalizingly. Jean swallows and tries to get his heartbeat back to normal. Maybe small talk would help?

“Thank you, Sir,” he says awkwardly.

“Of course.”

Erwin pulls some gauze and metal bands, and starts wrapping them together. Jean watches the muscles in his arm flex, entranced. The silence is suffocating.

“Sir, uh-”

Erwin looks at Jean, and Jean forgets what he was going to say. His eyes are so bright, even without the hospital ward lights shining in them-

“Yes, Jean?”

“What- ah, what are you doing here? Sir?”

_Fuck, was_ he allowed to ask a thing like that? Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? Asking his Commander to explain himself?

“Paperwork,” he says simply.

It clears up nothing except the fact that no, he shouldn't have asked. His cheeks heat up feels with embarrassment and shame. First sexualizing him like a creep, then asking him to justify himself? Jean's on a roll today. He stares at the ground and nods awkwardly.

“Can I see your wrist?”

Jean holds his arm out, staring at the empty space between the him and the wall. He sees Erwin coming towards him with the gauze, setting it aside. Rationally, Jean understands that Erwin's reaching out for him, to examine his arm for fractures or something. It doesn't prepare him for the actual touch.

Erwin's hand gently clasps around his forearm, raising it a bit, and Jean gasps before he can control himself. His body is burning up, fire seeping through him from the point where Erwin's skin meets his. It's too much, too intense, and he jerks his arm away and tries to calm down.

It takes a few seconds to realize what he's just done. His eyes are closed, and he never wants to open them again. But he has to.

Erwin's taken a step back, watching Jean with a baffled expression.

“I'm sorry, Sir!” he says, thrusting his arm out again. He'll steel himself through it- he can get through it, he just has to grit his teeth and-

“Jean, what's going on?” Erwin asks, soft and smooth, like he's talking to a startled animal.

Jean racks his brain for an excuse, anything to lessen the shame and repercussions. And he realizes there are none.

This is stupid. He’s stupid, and now he has to show Commander Dreamy just how stupid, a gross nineteen year-old manchild virgin taking sex pills to jerk off and getting a boner he can’t handle. _Maybe death by boner would be better_.

Jean takes a deep breath.

“I’ve had an erection for two hours?” he squeaks out.

“Oh, goodness. Jean, has this happened before?” Erwin asks. He sounds very serious, very worried.

“No. I- I took something.”

“What did you take, Jean?”

“Whistleroot.”

Erwin’s perfect lips set in a line, but he seems to relax a bit and sits on the chair next to the cot.

“Mm. Have you used it before?”

Jean shakes his head.

“How much?”

“300mg.”

“Ah, goodness. I’ll tell you now that you’ll be fine,” Erwin says, his face playing up a disarming mix of humor and pity. Jean is melting. “But where did you get 300mg of whistleroot?”

“I-“ Jean stops. He can’t rat on Eren, as much of a shithead as he may be. “Found it in the latrines, Sir.”

Jean numbly realizes that he just told Commander Smith that he took sex pills that he found in a toilet. He’s going to die.

“I see,” Erwin says. Jean can see he doesn’t believe him, not for a second- which is at least a silver lining- but he doesn’t press. “I can provide you with a quiet, private environment to tide over the next hour or so, and supplies to help you through it.”

“Okay.”

He leaves the room, and Jean listens to the sounds of his footsteps, the rattling of pills, and the pouring of water into a glass. He focuses on them, and it makes the throbbing less painful.

Erwin returns and sets the pills on the side table. He pauses for a moment.

“Did you really sprain your wrist?” he asks quietly.

Jean nods.

“Do you think you you can handle a splint?” he asks.

Jean knows what he's really asking. _Can you control yourself if I put a splint on you?_

“Yes, Sir.”

Erwin nods and picks up the metal and gauze, and Jean holds out his hand. He pulls up his knees and grits his teeth to brace himself.

Erwin doesn't touch him nearly as much this time. His fingertips ghost over his skin quickly and impartially, wrapping the gauze around the band and around his wrist. And even that sets Jean's mind reeling, his heart rate pounding, brings back the unbearable ache between his legs. He won't look Erwin in the face, and breathes deeply through his nose so he doesn't start panting like he's having the life fucked out of-

“There you go. Don't put too much pressure on there for a day or two.”

Jean draws his hand in close and tries to calm down.

“Thank you,” he forces out.

It feels like minutes before either of them speak. Jean can hardly think of anything but the idea of Erwin breaking the silence, flipping him over and fucking him, his heavy body on top of his, thick arms holding him down and making him take it-

“Are you alright, Jean?” His voice sounds so concerned, genuine, and sympathetic that Jean gives up whatever pride, or obstinacy, or _whatever_ it was in him that's kept him from telling Erwin everything.

“No. I feel really weird.”

“How so?”

“I- like I’m swelling.”

“Where?”

Jean runs his hand over his lower abdomen. “Here, but deeper?” He wishes he had the words to describe it, but the ache is something entirely new.

Erwin doesn't speak for what feels like hours. When he finally does, his voice is very quiet.

“Jean, are you familiar with the effects of the pill you took?”

“It causes erections, Sir.”

“Yes. By enflaming and swelling the prostate or Grafenberg gland.”

“The whats?”

“You haven’t attempted a massage?”

Jean stares at Erwin blankly. _A massage?_

“Well, that explains the prolonged discomfort. I’ll get you some booklets and-“ Erwin stops, staring at Jean’s bound hand. “Oh, dear.”

“What?”

“Failure to massage the gland will result in days of discomfort and fever, I’m afraid.” Jean felt himself start to sweat. “There’s a reason this drug is so hard to procure, you know. It really is quite unsafe.”

Jean wonders how Erwin knows so much about the drug, but he doesn’t feel like he should question him. Or think about it. No, he shouldn’t imagine Erwin red-faced and cloudy-eyed, biting at his lip, bending over and begging for-

“You are left-handed, no?”

Jean jolts back to reality. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve never internally stimulated yourself before?”

“No.”

Erwin sighs and his lips set in a line. “Oh, dear.”

Jean has a shitty feeling about this.

“Well, follow me.”

Erwin leads him to a small room with pale white walls and a single cot, no windows, lit by a dim ceiling light. He excuses himself and comes back with a small container of oil and a booklet. He looks deeply troubled.

“I’m so sorry for causing trouble-“ Jean starts.

“No, no. You’re young, these things happen. They don’t usually… “ Erwin trails off, and Jean swears he can see a flush on his cheeks. _What?_ “Well, never mind. Use this toy and these booklets, whichever applies to you. Come to see me if you have any questions.”

Jean nods, and Erwin leaves the room.

There's two booklets, and Jean quickly figures out which one he needs to read. He opens it up to find cross sections of torsos with arrows and colors that would be hard enough to understand even if he wasn't burning up from inside out. Erwin had said prostate or... some German name. Jean skims the parts and finds the prostate in-

No, that couldn't be right.

He looks at the diagram again. The little glob in the cross section, it does seem to match where his problems are-

_Ooh, that's what the oil is for._

At least he took a shit earlier. And if it'll help... at least there's no one around to ever hear of this. Besides Erwin.

Jean shimmies his pants down and wonders if Erwin is outside the room, if he can hear him. Probably not, but he still tries to make as little noise as possible.

He'd never messed around with his ass before, and it's weird. He doesn't really like it. He tries pushing a finger in and shudders- it's disgusting and burns a little, but it there's definitely  _something_ that hinted at relief. He tries pressing a little farther, but the burn gets worse and he has to pull out.

It's worse than just futile. Every time he pushes his finger in, that niggling feeling of _more_ taunts him. He tries to reach it, blindly prodding at himself with his clumsy hand where the diagram said the thing would be, and all he manages to achieve is the sensation of being fucked by the world's thinnest, boniest dick. Which only seems to contrast the images in his head of Erwin, his thick cock splitting him open and plowing into him. He'd nail the spot with every thrust, would know exactly where to aim to give Jean what he needs.

Jean thrusts his finger again and again, curling and poking and prodding, and the fantasy just gets more powerful and more frustrating. He takes a deep breath and tries to exhale slowly, to force himself to relax, and it comes out in a pathetic whimper he's _never_ heard himself make before.

_Fuck. This isn't working._

He pulls his filthy fingers out off his ass and wiped them off on the alcohol pad Erwin had left by the bed. His muscles feel like jelly and he has a feeling he's too weak to stand, but that makes no sense. He's a soldier, he could fucking walk to the door.

He raises himself up a few inches and his vision swims and fades to black. He gasps and steadies himself, to try again, and his legs nearly give out.

_I can't even move._

Panic rises in his throat, killing any cares he had about decency.

“Sir!” he yells.

Erwin's opening the door in seconds.

“Jean? Are you alright?”

“Help me, please.”

“What's wrong?”

His voice sounds like sex and Jean has to fight his body not to shudder at it.

“Can't move, I can't get up, it hurts so bad-”

“Jean, calm down.”

Erwin's right beside him and Jean gasps, he's not sure when that happened, didn't see him take a step. He can smell him, the dark musk that wafts from him, and it's clouding his vision.

“Help me, Sir, please.” His voice is pathetic, nearly a whisper, shaking and cracking, and he couldn't care less.

Erwin's hand cups Jean's cheek gently- hot, steady, calloused- and he lets out a startled moan.

“Jean, look at me, please.”

Jean tries.

“Oh, dear.” He lets go and Jean's skin feels like ice where he left it.

“What do you need me to do, Jean?”

“I tried touching the spot, I can't do it, it made it worse. Please help me. Please.”

Erwin's response seems to take years.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and Jean's heartbeat thunders in his ears. He walks away for a moment, but keeps talking, keeps the panic away. “I'm sure you understand that I'm acting as a nurse would, under the circumstances,” he says.

Jean nods, excitement and relief flooding him. “Yessir, thank you Sir.”

He comes back with a glove over his hand and starts pouring oil on two of his fingers. Jean bites his lip to keep from begging _fuck me, please, fuck me Sir._

Erwin keeps looking like he's about to speak and thinking better of it, over and over again. Eventually he sits on the bed, near Jean's waist, so close Jean swears he can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Will you take off your boxers and spread your legs?” he asks quietly.

Jean is more than happy to comply. Any strangeness he'd feel about spreading his ass for Commander Smith is eclipsed by the throbbing in his veins.

Erwin raises his arm slowly, making sure to broadcast his movements. Jean starts shaking as his fingers approach.

“I'm going to apply some light pressure-”

Erwin's cut off when Jean gasps at the touch. He freezes and starts to turn away.

“It's okay, Jean,” Erwin says calmly, starting to move in little circles that make Jean's eyes want to roll back in his head. Since when was his ass so _sensitive?_ It didn't feel like this when he did it himself, like his nerves were sparkling. He fights to focus on Erwin's rich, soothing voice. “-can only imagine, with the dose you took and how long ago. You have nothing to be ashamed of, your reactions are perfectly reasonable.”

“Th- Thank you,” he says. His voice flutters and he bites his lip to keep from moaning.

“I'm going to press inside, alright?” Jean nods. “It shouldn't hurt. If at any point it starts to hurt, tell me. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Erwin's fingers push a little more insistently against him. They're thicker than Jean's. Jean wants to know what they'd feel like without the glove. He imagines the touch of his fingertips, then how their bare chests might feel against each other, Erwin's back when Jean wrapped his arms around-

The finger pops in and Jean lets out a pathetic, whorish moan. He immediately slaps his hand over his mouth to stop more from coming out.

“It's okay, Jean.” Erwin starts moving his finger back and forth gently, and Jean's muscles twitch. “It's just you and me here. No need to be ashamed of the noises you make.”

Jean draws his hand back slowly.“No?”

“No, not at all. I need you to relax, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Jean nods. He closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he can. He feels his body unwind and start to accept the pleasure more fully. The next time a moan comes- when Erwin's finger pushes in a bit deeper, such a teasing pantomime of what Jean feels he _needs_ \- he doesn't try to hide it. It's not enough, but it's incredible, it's setting him on fire.

With every push of Erwin's finger, he feels like he's getting closer to the spot, the pressure becomes more and more full. But he doesn't press it, doesn't even search. When he's finally able to comfortably push and pull his long, thick pointer finger in, he pauses.

“Please don't stop.”

“No, no. I'm just getting more oil.”

Jean relaxes. “Oh. Okay.”

The oil is cool when it hits Jean's fevered skin, but it warms up quickly. When he feels Erwin's middle finger pressing along with the other, he understands why he'd needed more oil.

It goes in easier than the first, and Jean groans at the new fullness. It's so _good_ , so big, and Erwin's so gentle as he fucks him, making sure he's loose and ready before pushing any farther. Jean can hardly keep his eyes open, especially when he sneaks a look at Erwin's face to see him _blushing_.

Jean feels Erwin start curving his fingers up on the upstroke, searching, so close to what he needs, until-

Jean's vision blacks out and his whole body shudders.

“There we go,” he hears Erwin say, but his voice is far-off, not quite cutting through the pleasure fog. “Let me know if it's too intense.”

“Don't stop,” Jean begs. He shifts his hips, trying to grind against Erwin's fingers, get more of that pressure back.

Erwin pushes back again and starts to rub little circles over the spot, tight and firm, and Jean's jaw drops. He feels like he's short-circuiting. It's more intense than anything he's every felt. It feels like it's going to explode out from his skin, like he can't possibly contain all of it-

He comes, gripping the sheets and rambling nonsense noises, desperately riding the tides of relief and pained pleasure bursting through him. He vaguely hears Erwin talking to him- soft, gentle words of encouragement, _that's it_ and _let it out._ Fluid pours from his cock, string after string of thick white release. Jean feels trails drip down his sides as he comes down, and Erwin gently removes his fingers.

Jean comes back to himself slowly. He cracks his eyes and sees an amount of fluid on his stomach that's almost comically huge.

“Holy shit,” he slurs between pants.

“Indeed,” Erwin says, his voice strained.

Jean's eyes snap to look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He's definitely affected by this. His cheeks are bright pink, his pupils big and dark, looking self-consciously away from Jean as he stiffly removes his glove.

Jean's never been good at self-control, and the moments after the most intense orgasm of his life are no exception at all.

“Sir,” he says, “do you want to have sex?”

Erwin freezes. Jean watches his mouth open and close once, twice. Finally, he looks Jean in the eye.

“You're in no position to consent to something like that, Jean.”

“But I feel fine, the drug is out of my system-”

“It's not, it won't be for another few hours,” he says firmly.

“Oh.”

Erwin leaves the room.

It slowly dawns on Jean what he just did, and dull horror sets in. He just propositioned his _Commander_. You don't _do_ that. There may have been a law somewhere, but there was definitely a social code, and asking your _Commander_ to fuck you did not adhere to it, and now Erwin was probably writing up a report about-

And Erwin comes back with a glass of water and a hot towel. He hands Jean the glass and sits down beside him.

“You've lost a lot of fluid,” he says, gently wiping the disgusting mess he'd made from his stomach. “Not just this. Sweat, increased body temperature,” he says. _Is he... rambling?_ “Make sure to drink enough to make up for it. And it'll flush the medicine out faster.”

“Yes, Sir,” he says stiffly. He downs the glass.

When he's done, Erwin's looking to the side pensively.

“Jean,” he says, and Jean knows, this is it, he's getting kicked out or punished or _something_ , “you're not under any obligation to me whatsoever for what just happened here, sexual or otherwise. I acted as a nurse. You absolutely do not need concern yourself with my reaction because of my rank.”

It takes several seconds for that to sink in.

“I didn't think-” Jean stops himself, realizing that would have been a _great_ opportunity to cop out. Because that, right there, might have been Erwin giving him a cop out. But Jean opened his mouth, and Erwin's looking at him expectantly. _Fuck. Oh well._ “I know, Sir.”

“Oh,” Erwin says uncomfortably. He doesn't speak, but the air is tense.

Jean's come this far, he won't chicken out now. “So, Sir, does that mean- do you want-”

No, he will, he'll chicken out, _Oh God_ when Erwin's _looking_ at him like that, no, he can't.

“No.” Jean's heart sinks. “You're in no position to consent, still.”

Jean hears what's not said in the lilt at the end of Erwin's words. “But when I am?”

“When you are... _If_ you are _,_ we can discuss it then,” he says, his face flushed dark.

Jean bites his lip to keep from grinning from both the fact that he's not being turned down _and_ that Commander Dreamy is _flustered_ by this.

_Like I'll be able to stop thinking about this in a few hours._

“Okay, Sir.”

Erwin sets him up with more oil and gloves- he tells him he should be fine finding the gland himself now that he knows what he's looking for. He says he shouldn't need it, but just in case. And he leaves, telling Jean to yell if he needs him and the nurses haven't come back yet.

Jean looks at the clock and counts the hours until he can get a straight answer out of Erwin.


End file.
